


Blood in the Cut

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau Doesn't Have the Best Coping Mechanisims, Blood, Crying, Fighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Nott wasn’t the only person in the Mighty Nein with an itch, though Beau supposed that “itch” wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling she got when it was too long between fights or when things hadn’t been going her way or the world had insisted on being particularly infuriating. It was a deep down mental ache that made her want to scream so she didn’t have to hear the inside of her own head, to beat her fists against something just so she could feel. Outwardly she tried to act like she was fine, but she could feel her temper, a rotted rope ready to snap, and she didn’t want to take her feelings out on the group, not even on Molly, didn’t want any of them to see that side of her, what she was like when she let loose. It was personal, it was ugly, and it was hers.





	Blood in the Cut

**Author's Note:**

> So Marisha Ray said during one of the C2E2 panels that a song for Beau was K. Flay's Blood in the Cut, and after listening to it all I could think about was Beau, stalking the streets, bloody and smiling, or snarling. And then I had to throw some comfort in, because that's what I do.

Nott wasn’t the only person in the Mighty Nein with an itch, though Beau supposed that “itch” wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling she got when it was too long between fights or when things hadn’t been going her way or the world had insisted on being _particularly_ infuriating. It was a deep down mental _ache_ that made her want to scream so she didn’t have to hear the inside of her own head, to beat her fists against something just so she could _feel._ Outwardly she tried to act like she was fine, but she could feel her temper, a rotted rope ready to snap, and she didn’t want to take her feelings out on the group, not even on Molly, didn’t want any of them to see that side of her, what she was like when she let loose. It was personal, it was ugly, and it was _hers._

They were in a large town that Beau couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. It didn’t matter, nothing had mattered except finding an excuse to get away from the group for awhile, to have an opportunity to stalk the streets and ask the right people the right questions. It would have been easier to just start a fight in a tavern somewhere, but bar fights were over too quickly, more often than not, and would probably have ended in being thrown into whatever the town had for a jail, and Beau was allergic to jails. So she asked questions, and it was amazing the answers you could get from people when you looked like you had your heart set on murder, or at least a maiming.She had been directed to a bar, then to a basement, then to a basement under that basement. There had been drinks and noise and shouting and at least several dozen people who were looking to either watch a good fight or be a part of one. Beau knew on which side of the divide she fell.

There had been the bare minimum of rules. No killing, nothing that would cause permanent disfigurement. No weapons. You fought until you fell unconscious or submitted. There was a rule, unspoken, that submitting was what cowards did. Beau hadn’t submitted. She had screamed and fought like the wild thing she felt like. It had been nothing like her monk training, there had been nothing neat, or orderly, or precise. It had been noisy and messy and undisciplined and Beau had _loved_ it. She had fought six people all told, a couple of humans, a tiefling, two half-orcs. It had been one of the half-orcs that had dealt her the blow that had rattled her skull and knocked her senseless to the ground. She had only been unconscious for a few seconds, had come back up snarling and spitting blood, but it had been long enough.

Beau had smiled during her walk back to the inn where the group had been staying, even as she kept having to wipe away the blood that had been stinging her eyes. Blood on her face, blood in her mouth, blood trickling down the back of her throat and blood across her knuckles. It was late enough that there was no one on the streets to see her, which was almost too bad. She didn’t want any of the Mighty Nein to see her, but strangers would have been fine, strangers who would have shrank back from her bloody smile and her stalk of a walk.

Beau’s knuckles throbbed, her muscles ached, her throat burned, and a few of her teeth felt loose in her jaw. Her left eye was swollen, and she thought maybe, just maybe, her nose was broken. Her bruised ribs protested when she breathed, and that was fine, that was great, pain was an old friend and she welcomed it. Tomorrow there would be questions, tomorrow Jester would fuss over the bruises and cuts, but tonight there was only her and pain and it was good right up until the moment when it wasn’t, when the shaking started, when the tears stung her eyes as they mixed with the blood. She had been hoping that the shakes wouldn’t start until after she was in bed, that the tears wouldn’t fall until she had a pillow to cry into, but no. She had made it into the inn, at least there had been that. The stairs to her room had seemed an impossible task, which was why she was slumped over at a table in the corner, head bowed, when she heard the soft footsteps approach.

“I’m fine.” Beau said automatically, her tone made even harsher as it came from a throat wrecked from screaming. She didn’t look up, didn’t know who was standing there, didn’t care. “Just leave me alone.”

There was the scrape of a chair being drawn out from the table as the stranger sat down. “Sorry, can’t do that.”

It wasn’t a stranger’s voice, of course it wasn’t, because Beau had used up her luck finding a fight, in winning, winning, winning, until she lost. “Fuck off, Molly.”

“Told you, can’t do that.” Molly’s voice had a teasing lilt to it and it made Beau want to punch him, except she was shaking and her arms felt too heavy to lift. “I’ve seen you and I can’t unsee you. If I leave you now my moral compass will just keep pointing at you like true North until I do something.”

“Were you waiting up for me?” Beau had no idea what time it was, either late at night or early in the morning. “You’re not my dad, Molly.”

Molly laughed. “Well I’m glad we’ve established that, because that’s not a position I wanted to fill. No, I just happened to be unable to sleep and managed to come downstairs for a drink just in time for you to make your grand entrance. A little excessive, don’t you think?”

Beau felt him lean closer but didn’t look up, didn’t say anything. Blood stung her eyes and she swiped at it with the sleeve of her robe. She heard Molly sigh.

“I’m going to ask you once, Beau, and I’d rather like for you to tell me the truth without me having to charm it out of you. Did you go looking for a fight, or did the fight find you? Because if you were out indulging your vices, that’s one thing, because I trust you to fight only people who deserve it. But if trouble found you without you wanting it, well, I’d like to know who I have to beat before I can go back to sleep with an easy mind.”

“Why do you care?” It was a raw whisper of a question.

“I care because you’re part of the group, and that makes you family.” Molly’s answer was quick, with no hesitation at all. “I’m not your dad, I’m the annoying brother who won’t leave you alone, but who always has your back, even if that means a little lost sleep and some late night vengeance.”

“Family.” Beau spit out the word, and now there was blood on the table. Well, more blood on the table, anyway. “Family always leaves you in the end.” She hadn’t meant to say that. Why had she said that? It was true, but she hadn’t meant to say it. She was an outcast from her father’s house and she was glad about it. She was. She was.

“Not me,” said Molly. “Once you’re family of mine, that’s it, you’re stuck with me. If any of the folks from the carnival came to me for help right now, I’d be there for them, no question. Hells, where do you think most of my gold goes? Keep sending it back to Trostenwald, shaving off Gustav’s debt to society. Least I can do for the man. And you didn’t answer my question, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I went looking for the fight,” Beau said, because there was no reason to lie about it, and maybe if she answered Molly would be satisfied and leave her alone. “I can always find a fight, when I need one, can always find other people who want a fight too.”

“All right then,” Molly said. “That simplifies things.”

“Great,” Beau said. “Can I go now? It’s been a long fucking day.” She lifted her head, wiping more blood out of her eyes as she tried to stand. She had been sitting for too long, everything had stiffened up and her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. She found herself abruptly sitting down again.

“Post fight shakes are the worst, aren’t they?” Molly said conversationally. “And head wounds always bleed so much. You’re not seeing double or anything, are you? Dizzy?” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “Didn’t get your brains knocked around too badly, did you?”

“I’m _fine_ , Molly.” She was. Yeah, she hurt all over, but it was the good kind of hurt. She was exhausted, but that was fine too. She had even stopped crying, so really it was a win all around.

“You’re stubborn is what you are, but so am I.” Molly grinned at her. “So this is how it’s going to go. Option one: I can help you up those stairs, give you some powdered willow bark for the pain and the swelling, and put a few stitches in that gash on your forehead so you stop bleeding all over everything. Option two: I go wake up Jester, who will heal you, but who will also fuss over you, probably loudly, and ask a lot of questions. Granted, she’s going to do that in the morning when she sees you anyway, but if you go with option one at least you’ll have had some sleep first.”

“Is option three the one where I hit you and just go to bed? Because that’s the one I’m leaning towards.” It wasn’t, not really, but she couldn’t stop being a prickly asshole now, she had a reputation to uphold.

Molly grinned even wider. “Option three is where I charm you, do option one anyway, then everything becomes awkward and uncomfortable after the spell wears off and you hate me forever.”

“So nothing changes,” Beau said. She was sure Molly was bluffing about charming her. Well, pretty sure. She sighed heavily. “Fine, I’ll take option one.”

“Excellent.” Molly stood and offered her his hand. Beau ignored it and stood up on her own, but she did lean against him when they were going up the stairs. After that it was a short walk to Molly’s room, and she sat down on the bed and wrapped her arms around herself, as if that would stop the shakes, while Molly gathered up several things and pulled up a chair across from her. He handed her a wet cloth and she wiped away the worst of the crusted blood from her face, discovering that her nose was not actually broken, just sore as hell, so that was something.

“Did it help?” Molly asked as he handed her a cup of water in which he had stirred a generous portion of ground willow bark. “Going out tonight and getting beat up on, I mean.”

“It’s not just about getting beat,” Beau said softly. She had stopped shaking, for the moment. “It’s about doing the beating. There are always places where people are looking for fights. Everyone wins.” She gulped down the water, the bitter taste of willow bark washing away the taste of blood. “I don’t… I don’t _need_ it that often, but sometimes—“

“Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes your head quiet.” Molly said as he threaded a needle with heavy, black thread.

Beau blinked. That hadn’t been what she had been expecting Molly to say at all. “You… you actually understand, don’t you?”

“About needing to be hurt sometimes? Sure. About needing to be the one dealing the pain? That’s not my thing, but I understand it as well as I can. Let’s just say that there are ways to get what you want without having to find strangers to do it, but that’s a conversation for another day and another time.” Molly ran the point of the needle through the flame of the candle burning on the bedside table. “You ready?”

Beau closed her eyes. She could take a punch, she could face down a manticore, but if she saw a needle coming at her she knew she would panic. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Molly’s hand was warm on her face as he held her head steady, and then there was the sting of the needle, the drawn out pain of thread being pulled through skin. Beau hissed but managed not to flinch. “Have you done this before?”

“I’ve patched up Yasha a time or two,” Molly said. “And she’s done the same for me.” He hummed a little as he worked and Beau could visualize the stitches, small and neat.

“No one’s ever done this for me, you know, after— a night like this. Back home. It’s—-thank you.” Beau felt raw, exposed, all her emotions close to the surface. She felt the sting of tears again, heard herself swear, her voice trembling. “Molly—“

Molly seemed to know what she was going to say, which was good, because Beau couldn’t get the words out. “Give me ten seconds, Beau. Count them out in your head. After that you can cry or scream or shake yourself to pieces, whatever it is you need to do.”

When Molly stitched the last stitch, cut the thread, when the ten seconds were up, Beau leaned her forehead against Molly’s shoulder and let out a sob that felt like a scream, released a brief storm of tears, a flash flood of emotion that left her shaking and exhausted. Molly’s hand was still warm against her cheek but otherwise he made no move to hold her close, and he didn’t speak until she whispered a weak apology.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Molly replied quietly. “Feeling better?”

“This never happened.”

“Of course it didn’t. And if it doesn’t need to happen again, I’ll be here. All right?”

“Yeah.” Beau didn’t move. She was so damn tired, and she didn’t want to think anymore.

“This can be your room, if you want. Fjord won’t ask too many questions if I show up at his door.”

“Not taking your room, Molly,” Beau managed to say. “Jester will worry if I’m not in her room when she wakes up.”

“Good point, good point. That means you have to move though, I’m not near strong enough to carry you.”

Beau looked up into Molly’s face for a split second before averting her gaze and getting to her feet. There was concern in his eyes, but no pity, no contempt. He wasn’t judging her for what she needed to do to cope with life, didn’t pity her for her tears. “Thank you,” she said again as she walked towards the door. She heard him stand and follow her.

“You’re welcome,” was all Molly said, and Beau didn’t hear the door to his room click shut until she was entering the room she was sharing with Jester. In the moonlight she could just make out the shape of the room’s two beds, one empty, the other occupied by the gently snoring tiefling. Beau crept across the floor, silent as a shadow, slipping off her boots and climbing into bed, settling into the mattress with a sigh. She felt wrung out, and everything ached still, but the inside of her head felt quiet, for lack of a better term.

“Beau?” Jester’s sleepy whisper almost made Beau yelp in surprise. “You okay? You were out awful late.”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Beau said, and it wasn’t a lie. “I’m sorry. Lost track of time.”

“Sleep better when you’re here,” Jester mumbled, and a few moments later she was snoring again.

Beau closed her eyes. In the morning Jester would fuss over her bruises and cuts, and Beau would have to decide just how much to tell her. In the morning she’d have to go down to breakfast and pretend that she hadn’t completely fallen apart, however briefly, in front of Molly. At least she could be sure that Molly wouldn’t tell anyone what happened. He was good at keeping secrets. She had a brief moment to wonder what he had meant when he had said that there were ways for Beau to get what she needed without having to find strangers to do it, and then she was asleep, all problems and questions drifting away into the quiet in her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Molly mentioning his occasional need for pain to make his head be quiet is indeed a reference to Flogging Molly, one of my other fics, containing some platonic, non-sexual BDSM, if that's your thing.
> 
> I'm angel-ascending over on Tumblr if you want to drop in and say hi!


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